Who's The Boss?

Is getting revenge at work at good thing? Or career suicide?

Early in my career, I had a string of bad bosses.  There was the one that had zero integrity and would blatantly lie to cover his own butt.  There was another who always took credit for her team's work.  I had another I stayed with for years, despite him being a royal a-hole.  When the organization was dissolved because of his poor management, it felt as if we went through a painful divorce.  While I'd probably never want to work for those folks again (I say probably in the hopes that those managers have grown up and learned how to be better bosses), I also know that I learned a ton from all of them.  Sometimes the lesson was in what not to do.  Sometimes their lack of abilities led to a strengthening in my own.

I recently went to an advance screening of The Help.  The movie has been both praised and criticized for its portrayal of women in the South during Civil Rights.  The film, based on a national bestselling book, tells the story of a young white woman who aspires to be a novelist.  Being turned down by an agency due to lack of experience, she's told to start writing about something she knows.  Returning home from college, she's at a disconnect with her childhood girlfriends who've all become housewives and mothers -- and who've all hired black women as "the help."  Not liking how her old friends are treating these women, she begins writing their truths to create a scandalous, anonymous new novel from "the help's" point of view.

One of the stories told (apologies for being vague, but I don't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen the movie) is of revenge taken after her very racist boss fires her.  It's horrible.  It's hysterical.  And I think the boss lady deserved what she had coming.  But it also got me thinking about my own terrible bosses.  While I never took any retaliation - other than find a better job -- I wonder who has. 

So come and spill the beans.  I want to hear if you've ever taken revenge on your bad boss? 

Note: Many have criticized the book for racist undertones with a white woman "saving" black women.  The feminist in me saw the movie as an empowerment of women.  Women standing up for themselves.  Women telling their truth.  Regardless of the color of our skin, sometimes others can advocate for us when we are unable to advocate for ourselves. That's how I felt walking out of the movie. 

But those who've made note of racism have also got me thinking about the lens in which I see the world.  And how no matter much I can think that I'm open minded and liberal and standing for equality and all that jazz.... I've had a boatload of privilege handed to me just because of the color of my skin.  And that's bull.  For me and for those that had those same privileges revoked because of the color of theirs.  I've got a lot to think about and more to write about it.  For now, I urge everyone to read these posts written by @mochamomma whose eloquence and intelligence on the topic is outstanding.

Photo courtesy of Dreamworks

Who has time for books?

I have not read a book-for-pleasure since the birth of Cooper.  I've read lots. Books for my professional career, books for parenting, books on sleeping, books on breastfeeding, books on making your own baby food.   I've tried reading a novel, but my mind isn't in the same place.  I can't concentrate, can't settle down, can't get into the right mental place to read a novel.  Or I fall asleep before I read enough to even turn one page.

When I went to an advanced screening of The Help (review to come next week), my friend said that she quickly read the book before coming to see the movie.  I haven't read a book in so long that I didn't even know that the movie we were about to see was based on a novel.  Seriously.

After the birth of Darius, I went into the same no-novel rut.  I began searching magazines that would fill my need to read.  I figured I could get into an article and not be committed to reading an entire novel.  There are three magazines that I have fallen in love with.  Literally.  I want to marry them.

BUST Magazine is a feminist crafting magazine.  Not crafts that are feminist.  More of how-to-break-the-patriarchy-while-knitting-a-fabulous-scarf magazine.  The articles are well-written.  Their ideas are great and fresh.  Reading the magazine makes me feel hip. Unfortunately for me, the magazine only comes out 6 times a year.  If you want to try it out, I recently saw the magazine on the stands at Whole Foods.

Brain, Child Magazine. Their tag line: The Magazine for Thinking Mothers.  This is a no-fluff magazine where women writers talk about their real issues, like when you chose not to breastfeed, or when your little boy decides he wants to wear tights or how to handle when daddy gets deployed.  You won't find fluffy articles about what celebrity is using some new product or glossy shots of kids modeling over-priced clothes.  This magazine is also not monthly - only 4 issues a year.  I haven't seen this one on news stands locally, but you can order a one-, two-year, or lifetime subscription online.

Consumer Reports.  Technically, it's Neville's magazine.  But I've become a Consumer Reports junkie.  I read the thing cover to cover.  Sometimes more than once.  Even on products that we'll never use like ride-on Lawn Mowers.  And I quote from Consumer Reports all the frickin' time.  Since I have new-car fever, the magazine has become a safe way to car shop.  No pushy salesmen to bug me or ask if I need to call my husband before test driving the car.

If you know of any other magazines or journals that are along this vein, please comment and let me know. 

Is Opting Out a Feminist Mistake?

After working moms getting praised and slapped last week for working... the Stay-At-Home Moms are now in the whipping seat. 

There's been a lot of talk about career women who give it all up to raise their children. Some say it's a throwback to another generation. But for those who can afford to be stay at home Moms, it's a difficult, and very personal, decision. A controversial new book, “The Feminine Mistake”, by Vanity Fair writer, Leslie Bennetts looks at the risks women take when they put their careers on hold, even for a short time. Leslie Bennetts was invited to appear on TODAY to discuss her book.

 

In a nutshell, Bennetts argues that opting-out is a high risk gamble that doesn't pay off for most women.  Benetts goes on to say that most women who quit their jobs do so intending to return to work when their children are older, but they are often unaware of how many barriers there are to opting back in.  Through her research she found that there are tremendous financial penalties for taking a time out. The more time you spend out of the work force, the harder it is to get back in, and the higher the financial price you pay.

Bennetts was on the TODAY show this morning discussing her book.  There is also an iVillage interview with a debate going on in the comments section.  On Today's website, there is a poll for Can women be moms and have careers? Interestingly, the poll results show about 70% of people saying that we can.  But what kills me is that about 10% say that women can't but men can.  I am so freaking sick of this double standard.

As a working mom myself, many of the risks that Bennetts listed (economic dependence, loss of career/title/pay, fear of divorce/widow) are all reasons that kept me working.  The feminist in me was not comfortable being economically dependent on my spouse.  Not to mention that I didn't have a large saving account or cushion to make staying at home an option.  I am also in an industry (high-tech) where the landscape can change every six months.  Taking an extended leave would have made it incredibly difficult to stay current with my skills.  Mix that with having to eat like a college student again since we would be dirt poor - and my decision to keep working was pretty easy to make.

Bennetts says that "It's vital to keep up with your field, to maintain your contacts and update your skills so they don't become obsolete. If you're going to do volunteer work, consider doing it in your professional field, because running the bake sale at your children's school is not going to help you with potential employers. And while you're home, make sure you're knowledgeable about and involved with the family finances."

While this all seems common sense; my famous quote at work is "Common sense is NOT common knowledge."  But I wonder, how many women really opt-out with expectations that their marriage won't fail, that they'll let their husband take care of the finances because he is the man after all, that after taking 7 years off to raise three kids that all they'll have to do is sent out their dusty resume and they'll get a new fabulous career in a jiffy.  Are we, women, really that dumb?  I don't think so.

All I know, is that in the whole mommy wars thing, I'm glad that the working moms aren't getting torched today. 

Orginally posted in April 2007 for the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog.

Photo:Alexandra

Look Who's Harry Potter!

This is why I buy organic

Just 1.3 percent of imported fish, vegetables, fruit and other foods are inspected — yet those government inspections regularly reveal food unfit for human consumption.

1.3 percent!  That means that 98.7 of imported produce comes into our country without even a glance.  I can’t believe it.

Non-US farmers can (and do!) use pesticides, chemical fertilizers, and hormones that are banned in the United States.  About one-quarter of our fruit, both fresh and frozen, is imported. For tree nuts, it’s about half. And for fish and shellfish, more than two-thirds come from overseas. 

After attending an interesting discussion with Robyn O'Brien,  author of the new book The Unhealthy Truth, I'm pretty certain that most of our conventional produce in this country may not be safe for our bodies either. 

But if you can't afford to shop at Whole Foods (and honestly, that isn't my go-to grocery store), here are four simple changes that you can adopt.

1. Buy Local

Even if you can’t afford organic, buy local.  Go to your weekly Farmer’s Market (there are over 70 each week in the Bay Area).  Buying organic at the Farmer’s Market can be significantly cheaper than buying it at the grocery store.

2. Change Your Milk

Check to make sure that your milk is hormone free.  Believe me, the dairies are making it easy to find out.  There should be a RBST-free or RBGH-free sticker on there.  I don't buy organic milk (sorry, $6 a gallon is highway robbery), but I make sure that the milk I do buy is hormone-free. 

3. Eat Less Meat

If you eat less meat, then you can afford to buy better quality meats (organic, local) when you are eating meat. Our Costco carries organic chicken breasts and thighs that are roughly the same price as conventional chicken at the conventional grocery store.  We've also purchased "shares" of local, grass-fed beef in the past. You just need to make sure that you have the freezer space to handle a share.

4. Let loose 20% of the time

Stick to healthy eating 80% of the time, and then let loose 20% of the time.  No one wants you to become that mother who doesn't let her kid eat birthday cake at a birthday party.  We still go out to Chili's with friends on a Friday night.  It's not about creating a strict diet.  It's about making informed decisions about what is going into our shopping carts and, ultimately, our bellies. 

The evolution of a writer

The first time my work was "published" was in the 7th grade.  The middle school I attended put together a literary magazine that showcased talented writers (nominated by their English teachers).  A fictional story I co-wrote with a friend was the featured story that year.  I've also written for the school newspaper and have had a few blog posts placed into syndicated print newspapers.  But I've never been able to say before, with feeling much legitimacy, that I am truly a writer.  A bona fide published writer.

Until now. [cue applause]

 My friend Joanne Bamberger  has included one of my essays in her new book (coming June 1st), Mothers of Intention.  I haven't read the book yet, but can.not.wait. for my copy.  Since becoming a mother of two, the only books I've been reading are about vaccines, baby food, and sleeping through the night.  Needless to say, I'm thrilled that I'll be reading a book written by a friend and tickled pink that I'll see my own name in bounded print. 

I'm asking in my nicest voice to go out and buy a copy (you can pre-order on Amazon). 

About the book:  Born out of women’s writings on websites and blogs, Mothers of Intention: How Women and Social Media are Revolutionizing Politics in America examines the rise of the motherhood political movement and how women have become a larger, more powerful presence in political activism.  Women make up the majority of online users and utilize the Internet more effectively than men overall. As a result, they are rapidly growing in political influence. Mothers of Intention debunks the commonly held notion that motherhood renders women mute 
when it comes to public policy and electoral politics. With the authority of a veteran political commentator, Bamberger documents the emergence of a collective female voice in politics. Describing today’s complex political scene with humor, intelligence and humility, and explaining what it means to be a mother within it, Mothers of Intention provides a perspective that often eludes works of social commentary authored by a single individual.

Disclosure: I've made no money by being in the book or writing this post begging y'all to buy it.  This is just one friend reaching out to another friend asking for support in this awesome endeavor. 

Bait and Switch

This post is inspired by See Mom Run by Beth Feldman, a compilation of funny parenting stories by bloggers and writers, and the latest book choice for the Silicon Valley Moms Blog book club.

It was my first, real, Parent Teacher Night.  Sure, D’s preschool had a Parent Meeting in the Fall where the teachers talked a little about what happens in their class.  But this Parent Teacher Night was the big leagues.  My baby was no longer a baby.  He was a kindergartner.  An opinionated, independent, backpack toting Kindergartner.  And I was the mom in a new land.  A private school that we only toured twice before signing up.  A private school that cost more than my first year of college tuition.  A private school that had way more parents driving luxury vehicles than parents like us who sacrificed to send out son there.

Darius had survived the first two weeks of school.  I was still feeling like a strange man in a new world.  Navigating drop off and pick up, learning the intense homework schedule.  Between the afterschool clubs, the school uniform policy, and a parent handbook that was thicker than a college freshman textbook, I felt like I had more to learn than my son did.

So there I was on Parent Teacher Night.  I knew this was my opportunity to finally size-up my son’s teachers.  But I also knew this was the teacher’s night to size-up the parents.  So I tried to dress nice, but not too nice.  I squished my child-bearing hips into a chair fit for a five year old.  And I waited for the teachers to tell all about their class.  His teachers talked about what the kids would be learning and how to organize the homework folder. But shortly into their presentation is when the sales pitch for parent volunteers began. 

Third grade

In third grade, I learned how to make Wonton Soup, aced timed tests for multiplication tables, and was very mean to a boy named Jason who said he liked me.  I often jumped rope with my friends during recess, ate the same lunch nearly every day (peanut butter sandwich, granny smith apple, grape juice), and was allowed to wear earrings for the first time in a school photo. 

I had two teachers in third grade.  I loved Mrs. Godmoore.  She was lovely.  Everything a third grade teacher should be: kind but firm, loving but still distant, encouraging but disciplined.  In third grade, I would have done anything for Mrs. Godmoore.  Then there was her teaching partner, Mrs. Weiner.  I hated Mrs. Weiner.  She was evil.  Everything a third grade teacher shouldn’t be.  She humiliated children, yelled a lot, and never seemed pleased.  I often thought that Mrs. Weiner hated children. I could never understand why someone who hated children would choose to be around them all day long.

My Testimony

I've had my fair share of one night stands.  Not enough to write a juicy memoir, but enough to get tested for STDs in my early twenties.  I've never made a sex tape, but I did expose my boobs at a Squid Row in Cabo San Lucas during a raucous Spring Break week.  By today's standards, what I've written is hardly scandalous news.  My shady past is now considered normal.  At the time, I was a rebel. 

I never told my family of my transgressions.  I just knew that I'd be met with judgment.  My parents had expectations about how I lived my life and I certainly never did anything to make sure that their expectations were re-set to match my reality.  Well, except for when I came from college one summer and my mom found a pack of cigarettes.  Scandal!

So imagine their surprise when I told them I was knocked up with Neville's baby when I was 25.  I was an adult, and yet, I felt like a 16 year old child who got caught sneaking in past curfew. 

Are you passionate about your job?

I am a Project Manager.  Well, my official title is "Senior Initiative Manager" because instead of managing projects I manage large cross-organizational initiatives that are designed to improve the company's back-office operations.

Are you totally lost yet?  Because that sentence is the sentence I practically read verbatim whenever anyone asks me what I do for a living.  And somewhere between "Initiative Manager" and "cross-organizational," I can see a person's eyes gloss over and a look of confusion start to build. 

Explaining my job is difficult.  There aren't a lot of people that run the type of projects I run.  My job is equal parts Sales Ops, IT Systems, and Process Improvement.  In a nutshell, I find gaps in a process that make booking a sale or renewing a contract more difficult than it should be and then I rally the right people to make changes.

One part cheerleader, one part mother hen, one part squeaky wheel.

That's my job.  Seriously.  I just wrote the same on my resume.

And while I appreciate my job and find it rewarding when we finally make progress, this isn't a job I am passionate about. There is no passion in Project Management. 

Unless you are managing the project that cures cancer or executes a mission to Mars.  But when my job is to find a way to automate a process that credits future invoices, there is nothing passionate about it.  Sure, I may save the company some money and make sure that we don't overstate revenue or have unsatisfied customers.  But its a thankless job. My name will never go down in the history books for increasing employee productivity. 

When I hear about people who are quitting their jobs (even in this economy) to pursue their real passions, I get a little jealous.  Okay, maybe a lot jealous.  I think it would be absolutely awesome to get paid to do a job that I love.  If only, I knew what I *love* to do for a living.   I'm jealous that someone figured out how to turn a passion into a career.  Or at least quit the corporate world to figure it out.

For me, passions have never been work-related.  I want the freedom to pursue my passions without having to focus on monetary gains.  I don't want the things that feed my soul to be tied to making my mortgage payment.  I don't want to muddy the waters of my life with the nitty-gritty of a business.

I don't need to be passionate about my job.  Don't get me wrong, I am damn good at what I do.  My job fits all my strengths.  But passionate about my job?  Never.  And that's a strength too.  I'm keeping the best part of myself to myself.  I'm investing in my personal capital.  And I feel very lucky to have a job that I do well and am successful in my professional field. 

While I may not have a job that makes money from my passions, I certainly have a job that funds my passions.  And for me, that is the best of both worlds.

This post was inspired by the May edition of the Silicon Valley Mom's Group Book Club, Comfort Food, by Kate Jacobs where the power of food brings people together and teaches the joys of savoring every bite... of life.

much to your chagrin

It's December of 2000.  You are fresh out of college and have landed your first job as an Administrative Assistant making twenty dollars an hour.  You feel like you have a six-figure salary and shop with your housemate, Gemma, who has more credit card debt than you have student loans.  On the Sunday before Christmas the two of you head out to the Stanford Shopping Mall, a gorgeous outdoor mall in affluent Palo Alto, to buy stuff not for your family like every other last-minute Christmas shopper but to take advantage of the sale prices to buy stuff for yourself.  Hey, everyone should make sure that they have at least one gift they know'll they'll love under the tree, right?

After shopping for hours, Gemma wants to stop and grab some much needed caffeine.  She orders you both a nonfat mocha.  You regret not telling her that you're lactose intolerant but don't want to hurt her feelings or feel like she's wasted her money.  So you drink it figuring that a little stomach pain and some gas tonight is a small price to pay for a budding friendship.

Would you go to the end of the earth for your brother?

My brother and I have never been very close.  I don't know if it is because of our personalities or the fact that we spent the majority of our childhood in headlocks.  Ryan and I fought a lot as kids.  I don't know if it was more than other kids.  But most of my childhood memories involving my brother also include yelling, crying, and physical violence. 

It's hard for me to write that, as adults, my brother and I aren't close at all.  We barely speak to one another.  It's not because we harbor ill will toward one another.  Rather, we just never bonded with a tight sibling relationship.  We get updates on our lives through our parents.  Honestly, if my dad didn't fly my brother to California twice a year, I probably would only have seen my brother once since he moved to Arizona three years ago. 

When I read books like Who By Fire with a storyline about siblings I'm a little hesitant to "get into it."  A sister traveling across the world to rescue her brother.  Really?  Would a sister do that?  Would I do that?  The truth is, I don't know if I would.

Writing Motherhood: The Good, the Bad, The Ugly

Today I am taking part in the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog book club.  Writing Motherhood is a guide for all mothers to journal their journey of motherhood - the good, the bad and the ugly.  This post is about "the ugly."  The time in which there is a bad mothering moment.   

When Darius was just a few weeks old, I made a trip to our local Target to pick up some more baby stuff.  I was a worn out new momma.  Darius was still getting up every 2.5 hours like clockwork.  I felt like I was sleeping all time and yet not sleeping at all.  Breastfeeding was hard, but living with a newborn baby was harder.

I felt like I had lost my mind.  Always being proud of my sharp mind, I now felt like I couldn't remember the simplest of details.  It felt like I was re-learning everything.  How to eat while holding a baby, how to take a shower without feeling the guilt of leaving my baby in the crib, how to cook a meal without having to stop twice to nurse.  Looking back four years later, those early memories are foggy. 

The haze I was in during those early weeks has remained hazy.  Except for one moment.  My first bad mothering moment.

I was in Target picking up a portable crib that was on sale.  I was planning on spending the weekend at my mother's house and decided that she should have her own portable crib.  With one on sale for just $25, the trip to Target was totally justified. 

Still a new mom, my timing was still off.  I would later learn when it was safe to leave the house based on when I had last nursed or when my baby had last slept.  But I was still used to only being responsible for me.  When I had an urge to do something, I was accustomed to just getting up and going.  Having a baby whose needs came before my own was still a new learning experience and the lesson wasn't coming easily.  Without thinking about when he had last nursed or when I had last changed him, I loaded up into the car and headed out. 

Everything was fine until we were at the check-out.  Darius needed to nurse.  Still uncomfortable with nursing in public, I unstrapped him from his infant carrier and tried to bounce him around until we made it to the car and home.  As I paid for our purchases, my mom called on my cell phone to find out if I had picked up the crib or if she needed to head to her Target (why oh why I didn't have her pick it up in the first place had never even occurred to me). 

I placed Darius back in his infant seat and proceeded to chat with my mom.  She was my rock during those first few months.  We talked on the phone numerous times each day.  She always had great advice, words of encouragement, and unconditional support.   As I walked out to the car to load the new crib, I placed D's seat into the base and drove home. 

It wasn't until we got home that I realized I hadn't strapped Darius back into the infant seat.  He lay on top of his 5-point harness for the ride home. 

I felt terrible.  Beyond terrible.  I felt like I should just voluntarily give my child to CPS.  I couldn't even remember to strap my own kid into his car seat?  What kind of mother does that?  I felt lucky that nothing had happened to my newborn baby on that ride home.  My mom assured me that all moms make mistakes.  Moms are just as human as the rest of the world - we are imperfect.  We all have bad moments. 

I don't know why, but I felt comfort in knowing that this was the first of many bad mothering moments. 

And the WTF Award Goes to...

A new children's book written by a plastic surgeon to explain the growing trend of mommies going under the knife for implants, tummy tucks, and nose jobs. 

Supposedly, the book illustrates how the bandages are just temporary and that the kid will get a new and improved mommy in no time.

I'm all for women who want to get their bodies back after child rearing.  Because, really, for most of us our bodies look nothing like they did before kids.  If you have the money to blow on plastic surgery and it's going to improve your self esteem, I say go for it.  Who am I to judge?

Just make sure that you are doing it for the right reasons and not because you feel like you've somehow failed because your body didn't "bounce back" like the celebrities you read about in the check out line at the grocery store. 

And for the love of all that is sacred and holy, do NOT buy this travesty of a book.  Or tell your daughters that they get a "prettier" version of you.  Because that is just wrong. 

And since when did nose jobs become a part of the mommy makeover?  Last time I checked, I did not give birth to my eight pounder through my nostril.